


Black is set to win

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asylum, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, doctor-patient-relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternative universe John never worked with Sherlock, but works as a psychotherapist in an asylum. His newest patient is James Moriarty, who seems to be there on his free will and mostly out of boredom. Suddenly John finds himself struggling with professionalism and his fascination with his dangerous patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, the idea is quite a cliché, but I’m fascinated by it and just wanted to know, what would happen if I would write about all the Sherlock – Characters in an asylum environment. Anyway, I hope, you have fun reading. 
> 
> Music:  
> Birdy - Strange Birds

Prologue

His heels make a soft clicking noise on the cheap linoleum floor and the air smells of antiseptic and faintly of food from the cafeteria two floors below. He didn’t miss the smell and a soft shudder runs through him. Initially he never meant to come here  ever again. Being in an asylum never fails to remind him of his own incapacities. He straightens his back and tries to block the constant flow of information that radiates from his surroundings.

It was hard to make an exception and return, but Lestrade had offered him insight in casefiles and he has a personal interest in this case, so he went.  He had considered that case closed for a long time, but now, he is here to review footage and evidence.

To his left, one of the office doors opens and he is greeted by the head of the facility. The last time he was here, the head of psychology was someone else, but he never bothered to learn the names of people that bore him.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes. Thank you very much for dropping by.” The doctor says and offers his hand.  

Sherlock only snorts in response and ignores the implications of a handshake. He takes in every detail and every bit of information that sticks to the man in front of him and smirks of the banality of this man. “I don’t have much time, especially not for social conventions. I need to watch some security footage and the Yard asked me to assist in the search for one of your escapees and the missing doctor” A brief pause in which he clears his throat. He doesn’t want to admit his involvement so he adds “That was his attending doctor, if my information is correct.” He crosses his arms over his chest and shoots the other man a look that clearly states, not to waste his time.

“I was asked to provide you with the recordings Doctor Watson made whilst treating James Moriarty. Depending on the patient and his afflictions, it is common practice to record seasons.” Sherlock only huffs in annoyance. He wants to throw his knowledge at the other man. How many kids he has and what age they are in, what pets they have at home and that his wife sleeps with his best friend. But he keeps his mouth shut. He needs to pretend in a place like this.  
“Be that as it may, I hope I don’t need to remind you to treat the information thoughtfully.” The psychotherapist gives Sherlock a stern look.

“As far as I’m concerned, there’s a man missing, most likely captured by one of the most dangerous men of this time and I plan on finding him regardless your concerns. So can we speed this up?”

The doctor glares at him but keeps his mouth shut as he guides the consulting detective to the archive.

As soon as the two men stand in the windowless room, he hands Sherlock a neat pile of DVDs, all labeled with time, date, patient and attending doctor. Since Sherlock brought his own laptop he leads him to an empty office and leaves him without another word.

The consulting detective sits down and starts to shuffle through the pile of DVDs to find the one with the oldest date on it.

When the program starts, he leans back in his chair and rests his head on his fingertips.

 

After he finished the last tape, Sherlock leans back in his chair again, closes his eyes and plucks at one of his nicotine patches. At some point throughout the endless footages he applied his fourth patch, which is unusual, even for his standards.

_‘I thought you were clean’_ he hears a faint voice in the back of his mind. A voice from a different time, a different life.      
During the last few hours he learned to understand Moriarty. He feels odd, but given the circumstances he probably would have done the same. How could anyone let such a mesmerizing stimulator slip through his fingers?  
 _‘You had your chance’_ the same distant voice speaks to him again. Sherlock growls in response and shakes his head.

John Watson is by all means ordinary and average, but by watching the footages Sherlock his reminded of something he choose to forget a long time ago: John Watson is able to ignite a chain of thought that leads to epiphanies.  He starts to regret his early retreat, many years ago. The waste. Through nothing more than his recorded self, John could reach something within Sherlock he never wanted to remember again. No one ever had before and since John and he starts to miss it. Again he feels close, but the rational part of his brain screams at him to scotch old feelings.  

Some of the footage made him cringes and he can’t help to admire John for his bravery. A part of him wonders, if it’s bravery or stupidity, but he decides, that it doesn’t matter. John Watson dealt with a dangerous and vicious man, like no one else could.

He didn’t realize that the day nearly passed, while he sat in the office, following his own train of thought, but suddenly the door opens and Gregory Lestrade stands in the doorway.

He shoots Sherlock a puzzled look and asks “What do you have for me, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock takes a moment to consider his answer. “There is no use in looking for him, Lestrade.”  
“What? Why not? Do you think, he’s dead?”  
That makes Sherlock smile. “ Oh no, no, no, no. Far from it, actually. I’m just sure that you’ll never find him, unless he wants to leave and come back.”


	2. Chapter 1 Dodo Bird Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dodo bird verdict states that all psychotherapies produce equivalent outcomes.   
> “Everybody has won and all must have prizes.” (Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have fun reading!
> 
> Music:  
> Rebecca Ferguson - Glitter and Gold  
> Lana del Rey – Backfire   
> Neon Trees – In the next room

“Hi Mister Moriarty, how are you feeling today?”  
The man across the table slowly raises his head and pulls his lips into a wolfish grin. “Aren’t you a pretty thing? What have you screwed up to end up with me? He drawls.

The young, blond woman across the table folds her hands and smiles at him. “I’m not sure what you mean, it’s my first week after all and I’m here to learn.” He can see that he makes her nervous, that she can’t put her finger to it. But slowly, very slowly, a nasty feeling creeps up on her. He grins. ”Well, darling, if you’re new here, let me welcome you to the loony bin.” The young therapist fidgets in her chair but her smile is plastered on her face. “Thanks, that’s…kind of you. Why don’t we start our new relationship by telling something personal, Mister Moriarty?”  She tries again. Very textbook.

He looks at her and his smile vanishes, he leans forward. “How about _I_ tell you something personal about yourself, _doctor_?” he asks and nearly spits the last word. Of course she takes the bait.

The young girl still tries to smile, but it looks forced and painful. Obviously one last attempt of professionalism and a hint of stoicism.   
“My colleagues told me about your exceptional perception, I’m sure it’ll be interesting to hear what you’ve learned about me so far.” _Poor thing_ he thinks. _How very cruel of your colleagues._

He clears his throat and looks at her. His eyes leave burning marks all over her body.  
She isn’t striking but quite pretty. No quirks and no bad habits. Her nails are short but even and her hair has its natural colour. No injuries or scars, as far has he can tell. He’ll forget her face as soon as she’s out of the door. There isn’t anything about her, that catches his eyes. But she asked him to play, so he’ll play, even though, it’s just as boring as the last two therapists.

He straightens, fixes his eyes at her and then he starts.

“Soon it’ll be 5 o’clock, which means, you’ll be on your way home. You’ll the take the bus home, because you can’t stand it, being crammed in the tube with so many other people who can smell the antiseptic on you. And because you don’t want to be home too early.  After the agonizing long bus ride you’ll stop at the little shop around the corner to buy cat food. And while you look through the shelves to pick your dinner you’ll start to think about your ex-boyfriend, who was a decent chef. I recommend you pick minestrone tonight, since you had pea soup two nights prior.”  
  
She takes a sharp breath but doesn’t interrupt, fascinated by the horror.

  
“While you climb the stairs to your small two-room apartment you’ll watch the shadows creeping up on you. You start to run and take two steps at a time because you are still afraid of the darkness and working here doesn’t make it better. You can hear the screams from the unfortunate souls from the loony bin. Such a dangerous world, isn’t it?”

He swallows and cracks his neck. Her face has gone pale and she can’t help to stare at him in disbelief. The room is quiet except her uneven breathing. Those simple revelations obviously stunned here, since she doesn’t even try to object.

He crosses his arms in front of his chair and makes himself comfortable again. _Let’s make this quick._

“When you open the door to your flat you’ll be aware of its emptiness, like all those nights before. You’ll feed your cat even though you hate the smell of cat food. It reminds you of your aunt’s house and you have to wash your hands twice to forget the smell and the looks your uncle always gave you.

Every night the same routine. Since your last boyfriend betrayed you with what…your best friend? You don’t want engulf in any relationship anymore and attach yourself to your work, which frustrates you, because you can’t cure crazy people with a few hugs and nice words. It is hard work and you fell empty and so tired. No more parties, no more sloppy kisses in dark allies. You’re too mature for such childish nonsense, aren’t you?

You sit in your shabby apartment and watch TV, but it doesn’t interest you, nothing fascinates you anymore and then you start to feel lonely. It starts with a whisper, but suddenly it weights heavy on you and all the dark thoughts keep creeping back.

You stare out of the window and start to _think_! The loneliness is heavy on your shoulders and you can’t forget the emptiness forever.

But do you know the best part, hun? You think you deserve it. You believe that you deserve the misery and then you’ll cry yourself to sleep. A tad pathetic, don’t you think, dear?”

He leans back in his chair again and grins viciously. At some point she must have started to cry, her cheeks are wet but he doesn’t bother.

She gets up from her chair so fast, that it knocks over, still gaping and crying. “You’re sick! How could you possibly know that! That’s sick!” Her tone is accusing but he can sense the fear in it. She starts to run her hands down her thighs over and over again.   _That was way too easy._

He inspects his nails closely while she struggles with her professional composure.

When he looks up, she has her arms crossed in front of her chest. “How can you possibly know about all those things?” She asks again. She tries to sound angry but her voice betrays her and he can hear the fear in it.

He just smiles wickedly at her.

 “Hop, hop, little bunny, you’re done for the day!”

A mad giggle forces his way out of his throat and after the doctor storms out he shouts after her. “Next, please!”

Hopefully the next doctor will have a bit more fight in him.

                                                      ---------------------------------------------

Another day, another session with a new doctor. His guards brought him in a new office five minutes ago and he starts to feel bored. The walls still smell like fresh paint, a welcome change from the antiseptic and food smell. Behind the wooden desk is a big window from which he gets a glimpse of the Thames.

It’s not that he particularly misses the noisy streets of London town but the sterile monotony of the asylum starts to bother him. He lets his eyes roam through the room freely in order to distract himself from the world outside the window. He chose to take a break from the real world after all.

The new doctor obviously is even duller than those who came before him. Not a single personal item is to be found in his office. It’s sterile and practical. Tidy and spotless.

He hears footsteps approaching and readies himself. The door opens but he doesn’t bother to turn and have a look at his new therapist. He inhales and exhales slowly. He can sense a faint smell of cologne but nothing obtrusive.

His new doctor steps around him and leans against his desk, just looks at him for a moment.

Moriarty has to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing. He grins instead and speaks up, before the man in front of him even has a chance to greet him.

“How does it come, that I only get damaged goods? I thought I was a patient out of the books…shouldn’t the room be bursting with people?”

To his disappointment the man doesn’t react and continues to study him.  
“Do you want to be admired, Mister Moriarty?” he finally asks with a polite smile.

“I don’t want to be treated by a lame war veteran, who can’t get a decent life after their service is over!” He doesn’t like being studied, it brings back bed memories. It makes him feel helpless.

“I’m afraid it’s your own doing that you are stuck with me now, Mr. Moriarty.” He looks out of the window as if he has forgotten that he actually has a job to do. “With your first therapist, you played the multiple persona card, after that you had a severe Ganser-Syndrome(1), cyclothymia ,a psychosis, Korsakoff’s -Syndrome(2), and so forth. My personal favorite was your episode of mythomania. Right now I’m wondering what you’d like me to treat you for.”

Moriarty smiles and remembers his attempt at displaying mythomania. The compulsive lie telling was fun and it was hilarious to watch his doctor succumb to his own neurosis whilst listening to his fantastic stories.

Since the other man still hasn’t identified himself, the former consulting criminal starts to search for a hint. Luckily his doctor wears a name tag: Doctor John Watson.

“Did you know that I do have an academic title too, doc?” He asks, since doctor Watson chooses to stay silent again.

The doctor turns and looks at him. He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows enquiring.

“It’s…I’m a professor.” Moriarty offers. Anger starts to bubble in his stomach. What’s wrong with him?

“What did you teach?” It’s not a question out of politeness, but it isn’t interest either. How _frustrating._

“Applied mathematics at the MIT” the former consulting criminal pauses and cocks an eyebrow. “How we try an conventional approach, doc? Just for fun. Freudian style; ask me about my childhood and stuff.” He giggles.

 “ _Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies_.”(3) Doctor Watson replies with a steady voice. He continues to study Moriarty and waits for his response.

“And _to be grown up is to sit at the table with people who have died_.” Another smirk follows. “But you’re not dead, doc, not yet. You have seen it, though.”

“Well, wouldn’t that make me Death?” the blond man response thoughtfully and with a small smile.

_This is wrong, very wrong_. He shouldn’t banter with the new doctor; he wanted to play with him, but right now they actually converse as _equals._ That though disturbs him deeply and suddenly he feels very angry. _Enough!_

He takes a deep breath, the smell of Doctor Watson’s cologne and of paint is rich in his nostrils. Those blue eyes have studied him long enough, he wants to have a break, doesn’t want to be seen by them anymore. It makes him feel open and vulnerable even though John hasn’t said or done anything _yet._

Moriarty enjoys one last glimpse in John Watsons blue eyes and tries to remember the spark he finds there. He wants to see them lifeless and broken. It’s always the best fun to break strong men, reduce them into a small pile of cries and pleads.

His eyes flit over John Watson’s body and mark every spot that tells him some dark stories about the man in front of him. Piece by piece, layer after layer he looks into him. And then he is ready to strike, to show who is in control.

A second before he can start, the doctor snickers and speaks up.   
“Don’t waste your breath on analyzing and shocking me with your observations. You’re not the first, sorry. Yes, I was shot in Iran, yes, I’m unable to keep a relationship due to my danger seeking nature, and no, I don’t feel lonely and misunderstood.”

“What?” he snaps before he can stop himself. This revelation makes him angry even though he isn’t quite sure why. Obviously he underestimated the doctor, but it won’t happen again.

“You seem taken aback. Would you like to tell me all your observations? Would you prefer me to cry, professor?”

_I want you to react! To show me the effect of my words!_  
It’s time to change strategy in order to pry some reactions out of his new doctor.   
Why not attack his sexuality first? Hit him, where his painfully conservative pride feels attacked.  
“Nah, I’d prefer you tied to my bed, but I’m afraid that’s not covered by my health insurance…”

Again Doctor Watson denies him a reaction and replies only with a polite smile. He feels like screaming.   
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor Moriarty. Thank you, for your time.” He excuses himself and leaves the room.

After the door close behind the doctor, he keeps quite to hear the muffled voices.  
John talks to one of his attending nurses. “I’d like to reschedule my meetings with Professor Moriarty, make it as late as possible, please.”

The nurse seems startled by the use of the academic title, but doesn’t object. A moment of silence passes while Doctor Watson and the nurse take their leave. A satisfied groan escapes his lips.   
Their first encounter was strangely stimulating and inspiring. Not in a dodgy psychiatric way, but he has found something that occupies his thoughts and makes his stay exciting again. _  
He’ll definitely remember the face of this one!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Ganser – Syndrome: dissociative disorder. Characterized by nonsensical or wrong answers to questions often in combination with visual pseudo-hallucinations.   
> (2) Korsakoff’s – Syndrome: neurological disorder caused by a lack of thiamine. Symptoms are amnesia, minimal content in conversation, apathy and lack of insight.  
> (3) Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay Childhood is the Kingdom where Nobody dies


	3. Hubris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hubris:   
> Extreme pride or self-confidence, often indicates a loss of contact with reality and an overestimation of one's own competence, accomplishments or capabilities, especially when the person exhibiting it is in a position of power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's reading this story :) I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Music:  
> The Kills – Future starts slow  
> The Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Down boy  
> Arctic Monkeys – Why’d you only call me when you’re high

_Note:_

_//flashback//_

_//_ thoughts//

........

 

_//The sun burns down on his neck and he can feel how sweat is covering his back. Every time he moves the sand crunches beneath his boots. And no matter how many times he showers, everything here is always hot, sticky and dry. He’d rather be somewhere cold._

_His skin has a tan only the British weather could erase but he hasn’t been home in a very long time.  
He can’t remember the last time he really felt clean, but it doesn’t matter now._

_Since last week he has to supervise a new group of snipers. All of them are painfully young and he dreads the moment, they learn what it really means to be at war. To shoot something more livelily then a paper target._

_He is in the middle of a lecture about cleaning guns on a daily basis, when someone calls his name._

_“Captain Watson?”_

_He huffs in annoyance; right now he doesn’t need any interruptions. It’s way too hot for that._  
“Can’t you see that I’m occupied?” he shouts back in response.   
“Yeah, but there’s someone here who wants to talk to you. Seems important. A suit guy, you know?” The broad American accent makes John cringe.

_“Jesus, we’re out in a bloody desert, what kind of important buffoon would actually want to come out here?”  
“I don’t know, Sir, but you really should go.”_

_John sighs and dismisses his soldiers._

_The American pointed him in the right direction, but John takes his time and gets himself a bottle of water before he actually considers going. He has a hard time imagining, who actually is so desperate to come out here in order to talk to him._

_He opens the flaps and shoves the upper half of his body into the tent; his eyes need a moment to adjust to the twilight. He can make out another person sitting at the table in the middle of the marquee._  
“Nice to meet you, Doctor Watson!”  
To hear his other title makes him smile. No one here cares about his medical degree.  
 “I’m hardly ever addressed as doctor around here, you know. Anyway, you asked for me. What can I do for you?”

_John enters the marquee fully but keeps his distance from the sitting man.  
“The name is Holmes. Mycroft Holmes. It’s my pleasure, doctor.” Since there’s a 3 meter distance between them, Holmes doesn’t offer him his hand, only nods at him._

_“I don’t want to be rude, but it’s hot and I have plenty of work to do. So what do you need from me?”  
“You are straight forward, Doctor Watson. What a nice character trait. Well, I need you to find someone and bring him back to England.”_

_Taken aback, John crosses his arms in front of his chest._ That’s ridiculous. __  
“Okay.” He draws out slowly.”  
“But why me? I’m definitely not qualified for that kind of work!”

_“Yes, that might be true, but in this case, you’ll have a personal interest to motivate you, that most professionals would lack.” Holmes takes a sip from a water bottle in front of him._

__  
“And what would that be exactly?”  
“The man I need you to bring back is with your sister.” He plays with his umbrella and something like pity steals its way into his look. “I have to say, I’m sorry for the circumstances, doctor, but I really need to have my brother back.” 

_“You should know that even if I’d consider helping you, can’t simply leave here.” He’d love to go home for a couple of weeks, just to escape the ever burning sun._

_The other man –_ Holmes _\- watches him closely and makes John squirm in his own skin.  
“I know and I’m sorry about that, too, John.” The familiarity startles him but he keeps looking Holmes straight in the eye. _

_“Sorry about what exactly, Mr. Holmes?” the tone makes John’s stomach clench with anxiety._

_“As I said, you’re essential and I regret the following measures, you’re about to endure.” With that he stands up and walks slowly towards the exit. “We’ll talk again, as soon as you feel better, Doctor Watson. Good bye for now.”_  
Suddenly every fiber in John is tense and the nearer the man with the umbrella comes, the clearer can John see, feel, that this man is dangerous.  
  
“What do you mean ‘as soon as I feel better’?” John asks, his throat suddenly very dry.  
As if to answer his question two men enter the tent and look expectantly at Mycroft Holmes.   
Holmes doesn’t bother to look at them and rather addresses his umbrella.

How weird to bring an umbrella into the desert _. John thinks and struggles to suppress a smile._

_Holmes barely stops to give his instructions and talks while he leaves the marquee._  
“A clear shot to the shoulder should be sufficient. Try not to hit the bone!”    
One of the goons noods.

_After that everything moves incredibly fast. Before John is even able to process the situation he is grabbed, overpowered and pressed to the floor. He hears a gun firing and suddenly his world dissolves into pain.//_

…

John jolts awake and his hand instinctively grabs his shoulder. It’s raining outside and his old wound throbs like a second heartbeat.

Since that day in the desert, he has seen Mycroft Holmes on several other occasions. John can’t bring himself to like the man, but Mycroft keeps forcing his company. To be fair it has more to do with Sherlock, Mycroft’s younger brother, as John had learned a few weeks after the incident.

Still, he often wishes, he would have never met Mycroft Holmes. Because of him he had to see his sister again and had to re-experience so many bad memories from his youth.

He muses over all the weird encounters he had in the past with the older Holmes brother, whilst reading the daily reports about James Moriarty. Tomorrow they’ll have their second session and John’s stomach clenches in anticipation.

Since the bullet hit his chest he has a slight tremor in his left hand. Nothing serious, but it makes performing surgery impossible. The transition from surgeon to psychotherapist was easier then he expected and he really enjoyed the re-training.

Being back in London is strange, but he feels happy and as content as a war veteran can be. It’s hard being a civilian again, but he works hard to recover.

He flips through old files and documents, all about James Moriarty. He was surprised, when he was handed this particular case. But this man fascinated him from the moment he stepped through the door. Like the Holmes brothers he is highly intelligent and a huge amount of danger radiates from him, no matter what affliction he decides to demonstrate.

So far John is blank when it comes to Moriarty. Several theories and ideas weasel through his head but he has no particular feeling for the man _yet_.   

Later at home he isn’t sure what keeps him awake, but he is full of energy and can’t wait for the next day. Moriarty keeps creeping inside his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than I intended...oh well   
> Let me know how you like the story so far and what you think of the ideas in general :)  
> Taa~


	4. Florence Nightingale Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A situation where a caregiver develops romantic and/or sexual feelings for his patient, even if very little communication or contact takes place outside of basic care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music
> 
> From Finner – Of Monsters and Men  
> Black Roses – Clare Bowen  
> The Other Side - Woodkid

His night has been restless and every minute he spent awake in his bed is dedicated to his new patient and his annoyance about the fatigue that would lie like a pall over the coming day. Around 5 in the morning John gives up any hopes about sleep and gets up. The shower is too cold and too hot and it takes him forever to shave.

On a normal day he would sit at his kitchen table and drink his tea while reading the newspaper, but today he is even too tired to butter his toast. So instead of tea he brews himself a very strong coffee and gets his paperwork for the day sorted.

A few miles away Moriarty sits in cell wide awake and reading. He isn’t very focused on what he is reading, but he knows that a part of his brain will be able to recall it later nevertheless. He had three hours of sleep, his mind is rested and for the first time in a long while he feels relaxed.

Not for the first time he briefly wonders why none of his doctors ever realized that his performance peak is during the nightly hours. Daylight was boring and dull, nothing interesting ever happened at noon.

Turning the page on auto-pilot his thoughts stick on Doctor Watson. Their first encounter was oddly unsatisfying. Normally he could draw some form of reaction, but his new doctor seemed way to content.

With an annoyed growl he flicks the book shut and leans back on his bed.  
He needs his doctor to play the game; he needs them all occupied and on alert. Watson would be his last piece to move, so he needs to be willing.

As he is brooding over his next steps his hands start to move automatically. Ripping out pages of the book and forming them into new shapes. Everything bends to his will.

                                                                                                   ….

John yawns and stretches his arms. His day had been long and tedious and he wants nothing more than to get home, but he still has one patient left. Right now Moriarty should be transferred from his cell to John’s office for their session. He needs to be focused and calm.

 As he reaches the door to his office he hesitates for a second. He’s really tired but he can’t lose it, not in front of Moriarty. He shakes his head, willing himself awake and alert. _This used to be so much easier._

John enters and Moriarty is already there, not seated in front of his desk this time, but standing at the window, watching the life outside.

“Good evening, doctor.” He greets. “You seem tired, something keeping you awake?”  
The man at the window hasn’t turned and John wonders how he could possible know how tired he is, without looking.

At the lack of an answer, Moriarty finally turns and shoots John a wicked smile. “Hiii!”  
He greets again in a nasty sing-sang voice. It makes John nearly jump out of his skin.   
“Good evening, professor.”   
He steps over to his desk leaving a good distance between Moriarty and himself. “Would you like to sit down for our session?”

James smiles a bit more but doesn’t move. “I think, I’ll stand, doc, thanks.” With that he turns his back to John one more time and continues to look outside.

John watches him and finds himself wondering if the other man misses being in a crowd. _Sherlock had always hated it._

It’s silent for a long moment, while John watches Moriarty, who keeps looking out of the window. He had thought about this session the whole day but still hasn’t decided on a strategy yet.   
Following a sudden impulse John speaks up.  
“You wanted me to ask you about your childhood, professor. Why?” John is leaning against the desk again and watches Moriarty. The dark haired man opposite of him cocks his head and smirks. “It was tragic! Don’t you need an explanation for my disturbing behavior?” he asks back wickedly.

John has to keep himself from sighing. It’s not a fun game to play. “Would you like to share it with me?”

The transformation is amazing. The charismatic and powerful demeanor vanishes, his upright posture crumbles away and his shoulders cave forward. John can’t believe his own eyes. The man in front of him looks like a person who had spent the last years in an asylum at last. His eyes are dull and his hands have a slight tremor. Within a few seconds James Moriarty transformed into a broken man.

He raises his arms to hug himself as if he needs comforting. But he displays a struggle to look John in the eyes. His gaze flitting all over John but his face.

He clears his throat and answers in an unsteady voice.   
“Well, the thing is, I have a sister, or had, I can’t tell.”

John is surprised that he actually answers his question, especially since he doesn’t look like he has the strength to stand upright on his own.

 Since Moriarty isn’t interrupted, he continues.   
“Our mother died after she gave birth to her. I was three. Our father of course was devastated; people do that, die and grieve, that is. But as the weeks went by, he met a new woman. She must have been lovely and she liked my father back. As our dad asked her to live with us and she agreed, but only under the condition that my sister and I had to go. She couldn’t stand to see the children of another woman. So, of course our father did the reasonable thing.”

He cradles himself in his arms and starts to rock back and forth slightly.

John is fighting the impulse to comfort the man in front of him. Captured between hope, disgust and astonishment. A small part of John hopes, that Moriarty’s father actually refused his stepmothers request, but he was soon disappointed.

Moriarty kept his passive demeanor and continued his story.  
“The next day he gave me a small backpack with a few things and told me to go and live with my godfather. He lived in the village next to ours and was about 10 miles away. It was cold and windy and he left me standing there on the street. He was gone and I was on my own. After a while a car stopped and asked me where I wanted to go and so I ended up at my godfathers place.”

John felt sadness and pity dwelling in his chest as he pictured a small boy, sad and cold and lonely on an empty street. He took a deep breath and tries to find back to his professionalism.  
“What happened to your sister?”

“As I said, I’m not sure.”

“You can’t tell me, that a man of your intellect never tried to figure out what happened to his kin(?)”

“Let’s say it is better left alone.”

“Is any of it true, professor?”

“Oh can’t you tell, doctor?”

 And all of a sudden, he is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, I hope you enjoyed reading. Reviews always welcome :D  
> Taa~


	5. Id

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The id is the unorganized part of the personality structure that contains a human’s basic, instinctual drives. It is the source of our bodily needs, wants, desires and impulses. 
> 
> “It is the dark, inaccessible part of our personality, what little we know of it we have learned from our study of the Dreamwork(…)” (Freud’s structural model of the psyche)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music:
> 
> Dark in my Imagination – Of Verona  
> Bloody Mary – Lady Gaga (Oh my, shame on my, but it helped :D )
> 
> Not much plot in this one - hope you'll enjoy it anyway :)

He was still drowsy from the effect of the drugs, but sufficiently conscious of his surroundings and his predicament.  
Obviously he was in one of his patients cells. He was sitting on the thin mattress on the bed, leaning his heavy head against the wall behind him.

His body was grabbed and lifted up on his bare feet, but his mind was still clouded. Someone pulled his arms up and held his wrists behind his neck so that his fists were held up and out of the way.

Slowly it dawned on John that his cloths were missing. He wasn’t cold, the temperature in the room was quite comfortable and the drugs still made him obedient.

His naked body was now fully exposed and defenseless. He still had no idea when he had lost his clothing. But why would it matter now?  
A strong rope was used to lash his wrists together. Tender fingers ran the rope down from his wrists behind his head down his back and between his legs were each end was tied around both of his tights.

The touch caused goose bumps and made him shiver.   
Strangely enough the sensation from the rather tender handling and the unspooled rope was giving him a nice sized hard-on. He still couldn’t bring himself to bother too much.

The way in which he was tied up forced him to keep his hands behind his head and his elbows spread wide. He should feel helpless, but somehow he felt oddly confident. Due to the foreign position his wounded shoulder slowly begun to ache but even this pain couldn’t do anything about his current sexual arousal.

 “Oh my dear doctor, I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Your legs, your back, your cock and your destroyed chest. Beautiful. A bit…tied up maybe, but perfect.” John drew in a sharp breath as he recognized the voice.

Ignoring John’s reaction, Moriarty grasped John’s cock and started to stroke it. He was delighted to see how quickly the already erected cock hardened under his grip. A thin stream of pre-cum dripped from the slit and made Moriarty lick his lips.

Due to his forced position John was leaning heavy against his chest, and to his surprise the doctor didn’t try to get away from him. The man in his arms was breathing heavily lost in his own pleasure as Moriarty kept touching him.

With Moriarty’s increased speed John’s breathing came erratic and his muscles started to tense. John felt so close and suddenly it stopped. He groaned in frustration and started to complain, but Moriarty just pushed him towards the desk at the other side of the small room.

The movement reminded John of his restraints but he didn’t bother. Moriarty pushed John’s torso on the surface of the table and kept one hand between his shoulder blades.

He dipped on finger in a jar filled with grease and without warning pushed it into John’s puckered hole. The doctor gasped but quickly recovered his composure. Moriarty was pleased to feel the doctors sphincter squeezing and relaxing as his finger continued probing the inner recesses of John’s hole.

He withdrew his finger only to grease up a second one and returned to his task. A third finger followed quickly and he enjoyed every moan that escaped the doctor’s lips.

“You are so tight and responsive, doc, must have been a long while...”

The rope had cut into the tender flesh around his tights, making a bloody ring around it, but John was oblivious to it.

He placed his fingers next to John’s lips. Without hesitation the doctor took Moriarty’s fingers into his mouth and licked them clean. He groaned softly.

“Look at that hole of yours, I could fuck it for hours” he whispered into John’s ear.

The puckered pink opening waited invitingly for him to take possession. He couldn’t wait any longer. Placing the dripping end of his cock against the subject of his lust he forced it past the entrance in one agonizing slow trust. What resistance there was he hardly noticed as the whole length of his cock entered John’s rear.

Both men moaned loudly. Moriarty slowly withdrew his cock almost to the end and trusted in again as slowly and agonizing as before. He wanted this moment to last, to withhold the climax for as long as possible.

He looked down at John’s expression of sheer lust and trusted in a bit harder than before. John rewarded him with a throaty groan.

His sexual arousal and all the sensations in his cock grew and grew as he experienced for the first time the exquisite feelings of John Watson’s tight ass involuntarily gripping his invading cock.   
Every time he withdrew himself from John, the doctor rolled his hips to meet James’ movement and buried James’ cock deep inside him.

Thrust followed thrust until with one long loud moan of ecstasy he pumped his seed deep into John.

He pushed feelings of affection and ownership aside as he reached for John’s still rock hard cock and brought him to completion too. John came with a loud moan and sputtered his cum all over his stomach and James’ hand.

His release made John smile and he raised one hand as to touch James’ cheek.

The former consulting criminal smiled relishing his power over his now helpless doctor.

                                                                                                      .........

Moriarty awakes with a jolt. Disorientated his fingers curl into the linen sheets. His gaze flits through the room, it’s empty, and he is alone. It’s still dark outside and he can’t hear any noises from the people outside his cell.

  _Oh that was interesting._ His subconscious finally provided him with something he could use against his new doctor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the kudos and comments. I really appreciate them! <3
> 
> Reviews and critique is always welcome. 
> 
> Apologies for all my mistakes - still no beta-reader :)


	6. Social Engineering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Social Engineering refers to psychological manipulation of people into performing actions or divulging confidential information. A type of confidence trick for the purpose of information gathering; it is often one of many steps in a more complex fraud scheme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Thanks for staying with me so far. I know I have a horrible update schedule - non.  
> Anyway, this chapter is a tad longer :D  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Music:  
> The Hush Sound – A Dark Congregation  
> The Oh Hello’s – Hello my old heart   
> Paulo Nutini – Iron Sky

“Brooding over the past again, John?” A soft baritone interrupts his train of thoughts. John is sitting in the cafeteria of the asylum, a place open to the less dangerous occupants of the facility as well as the staff.

“Sherlock.” John greets and offers the seat opposite of him. Sherlock sits down and watches the doctor carefully. “What were you thinking about, John?”

John pulls his lips into a smirk. “Can’t you tell, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock clenches his fist slightly, the only sign of distress he can’t control displaying. John smiles apologetically. “I was thinking about the circumstances of how we met” he offers.

Sherlock seems to consider his answer and watches his own hands as he replies. “I can see it, John, you know that I can. I just thought it would be more…acceptable to ask.”

John sighs, recognizing his mistake and feeling bad for it. “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me I just have loads on my mind right now.”

“Care to share?” Sherlock asks cheekily. “Confidential, I’m afraid.” John answers back in a similar demeanor and smiles before something catches his eye. He looks over Sherlock’s shoulder and grimaces. “Time’s up” he murmurs and Sherlock spins around, anger written all over his face.

 

Mycroft is approaching with his trademark umbrella in hand. Sherlock gets up in an instance but John stays seated, not willing to offer any more information than what he is already divulging unconsciously.

“Don’t you have other things to do then to bother and supervise me, Mycroft” Sherlock asks his brother nonchalantly. His gaze flitters over the few surveillance cameras in the cafeteria. “One would think the British Government has better things to do then watching someone in the loony bin.”

John cringes inwardly at Sherlock’s choice of words. He’d love to see Sherlock anywhere else than here, but right now it’s not an option for Sherlock’s own safety to be out in the real world.

“Don’t act against the rules and I don’t have a reason to bother you, brother dearest.” Mycroft shoots back annoyed. He turns his head towards John and forces a smile. “Doctor Watson.”  He greets. John nods in reply and folds his arms.

Mycroft smirks and turns back to face his brother “Why don’t you enlighten me, Mycroft?”  
“Two reasons, Sherlock, only two, for you not to interact with John Watson”  
 _Doctor! John Watson_ , John thinks with a smirk.

Every time he is caught between the two brothers he feels small and insignificant, even though he is clever and a credited doctor. He doesn’t feel comfortable around those two, but ignores the nagging feeling of unimportance. _No need to play the alpha-dog game with them._

“For one, you are not to interact with _anyone_ from your past, Sherlock”  
“John is hardly someone from my past, Mycroft. He might be part of my recent history, but he inflicted only _approved_ behavior, didn’t he?” Sherlock retorts sharply.   
“Secondly, John is working a case in which I don’t want to see you involved.”   
John has a hard time not to bubble over with laughter, since he can pinpoint the exact moment in which Mycroft wants to kick himself and Sherlock starts to be involved.

He stands and regards the two men in front of him. “Always a pleasure to witness, that even men in your position tend to make mistakes, Mycroft.” He needs to get back to work and gathers his folders. “See you around, Sherlock. Good day, gentlemen.” He tips his head mockingly and leaves the cafeteria. Neither of them stops him, but he can hear them argue the whole way through the cafeteria.

 

                                                              ----------------------------------

 

The afternoon passes agonizingly slow and John is caught between boredom and alertness. He dreads his last appointment, but a part of him wants to be in the same room as Moriarty. To avoid thinking about this particular notion be drinks tea and occupies himself with evaluations of some of his other patients.

Due to his avoidance strategies he is late to his last appointment of the day. Originally he had intended to be in their room a few minutes to spare, to prepare the camcorder and other tools not right under Moriarty’s watchful eyes for once.

  _No luck today_ He thinks as he sees two guards in front of the office door. He scribbles his name in the schedule and exchanges glances with the guys, but they don’t talk much.

As he enters the room he glances at Moriarty who is – of course – already sitting at the table. John sets out to prepare all necessary recording tools. Not that he is particularly fond of these observation tools but since he is dealing with a high profile patient he needs to do everything to ensure a professional setting.

He has greeted Moriarty, but the other man stays silent while John works.

“I need to apologize, Doctor.” Moriarty states as John finally sits down and takes his notepad.       John cocks an eyebrow “Why is that, Professor?” He lets his eyes roll over the man in front of him. Moriarty is hunched down in the chair. His hands are folded in his lap and his fingers twitch nervously.

A lesser man would be fooled by Moriarty’s display of distress, but since their last session John is wary to believe anything. It’s hard work to repress compassion and sympathy but he can’t be sure with Moriarty. He can’t let him get under his skin.

The silence is almost deafening and Moriarty doesn’t seem willing to provide anything further. John clears his throat and tries again. “What would you like to apologize for, James?”  
Moriarty’s head snaps up and for a very short moment something gleams in his eyes, but it vanishes before John has a chance to decipher it.

Moriarty takes a deep breath but avoids John’s eyes. It’s - er – it’s because of our last session. I…I didn’t mean to be that way. It’s just that…” he trails off, still hunched over in his chair, hands fidgeting in his lap.

_What the hell is going on here?_ John blocks out his irritation and rising empathy. _What game are we playing today?_ He withholds a sigh and tries to focus on the man in front of him.

Unsure of how to approach, John decided to go with some sort of empathy. “There’s no need to apologize. I – “

Before he can finish his sentence, Moriarty interrupts him. “Look, Doc, it’s not like I don’t want to try. But between ignorant morons and presumptuous gits there is hardly anyone left whom I could actually trust.” He doesn’t seem angry about his revelation but a rather defeated look has crept onto his face.

“Trust to do what exactly?” John asks cautiously, torn between a professional need to finally help the man and the rising fear of a new trick.

Moriarty looks at him tiredly. “To make a difference…John” He smiles weakly and goes back to look at his hands.

Despite himself John asks “Could you trust me, Professor?” Moriarty leans forward in his seat eyes suddenly fixed on John. “Oh Doc, I have different things in mind for you” he snarls at John.

Following an impulse John leans back, giving up territory. The strong emotion had surprised him. _Stupid!_ He chides himself. “And what would that be exactly?” He asks warily. There is a small break and Morarty seems to consider his options. All his senses are focused on John now. He answers with a smirk.

  
“I’d like to push you against the wall, pin your hands together over your head. Just knowing that you could easily overpower me but choose to submit instead. This one moment when you don’t have to be in control and someone else can take over. I’d ravish your mouth and leave you breathless. Bite your lip until I taste blood. Touch you, watch you come undone in my hands…Tempting, isn’t it?” John draws a ragged breath but stays seated. He should have run.  

“I want you, John. I really do!” There is a strong urge in his voice and he glares at John intently.

John wants, needs, the other man to shut up. His cock is twitching in anticipation and the more Moriarty talks the higher the flame of his desire burns. For a brief moment he considers leaving, fleeing the room, but he decides against it. _I’m not a coward._ He should have known better.

The other man gets up slowly and walks around the table that separates them. He pulls John out of his chair who is still stunned by his former revelation. _What the hell is happening?_ John wonders while his patient guides him towards the door. He simply follows the lead.

A few seconds later Moriarty has him cornered; his back to the wall and the other man is close – too close. He can feel his breath on his skin and it gives him goose bumps. John’s heart is beating too fast and too loud and he is sure that Moriarty knows. How could he not?

The former consulting criminal stares at him and John –caught between fear and arousal – stares back. There is a hesitant moment full of anticipation but Moriarty simply brings his hand up and cups John’s cheek. The gesture is tender and full of fondness and even his lips are pulled into a coy smile.

He doesn’t know if it’s real or just a new trick, everything John knows is that he needs _this._ He leans forward and presses his lips softly on Moriarty’s who remains almost passive and anticipates his move. Both men shudder from the contact and John decides to let go.

Moriarty wraps his other hand around John’s hip and brings them closer together. The pace of the kiss doesn’t change though. Lips move against lips leisurely, almost shy. He grabs on arm and clings on it for dear life. He never pictured himself as needy, or unprofessional, or gay for that matter, but it doesn’t matter now. The only things that matter now are Moriarty’s lips against his own.

A knock on the door nearly makes John jump out of his skin. He jerks his head free and holds the other man at arm’s length away from him. “What?” John asks brisk while Moriarty just smirks.   
There is only silence from the other side of the door. Moriarty’s grin widens and it slowly dawns on John.

“What did you do that for?” He asks and his insides burn with shame that there is a trace of hurt in his voice.

“I think, we’re done for tonight, aren’t we, Doc?” Moriarty shoots back with a hint of malice. He straightens and releases John.

John’s world is spinning and he can’t quite grasp what just had happened. Moriarty chuckles and is obviously amused by John’s struggle. His doctor is trying to pull himself together and is failing miserably. It’s fantastic to watch.

“I hope you’ll have a nice evening tonight, Doc.” Moriarty states softly. “What?” John asks startled still trying to put himself back together.  
“Oh well” Moriarty cocks his head slightly to the left. “It seems you haven’t slept well the last few days. Something’s on your mind?” The empathy in Moriarty’s voice is astonishing.

_You_ John wants to answer, but decides that this answer would hardly be helpful at all. He straightens himself, willing his mind to ignore the past five minutes.   
“Don’t worry, all’s well, but thanks for your concern” His answer makes Moriarty petulant blow air from his mouth.

“You mind being lonely, Doc, don’t you?” It makes John’s insides squirm. “Excuse me?”  
Moriarty smiles apologetically at him. “I don’t like it either, you know? It’s nice to have someone to wake up next to” He muses, scratching the back of his head absent-minded.

John stares at him and a small part of him begins to wonder, how it would be to wake up next to Moriarty. How it would feel to touch the soft skin on Moriarty’s chest or watch the other man sleeping.

“Cat got your tongue, Doc?” Moriarty asks with a bold smirk on his face. John’s face is burning with shame for that he is sure Moriarty knows exactly what he was thinking. This evening’s session has done enough harm, he decides and grabs the door handle.    
Not willing to give the other man any more targets to hit he bids him good night and leaves. _Perfectly reasonable to run away like a child, John._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you for all the kudos and comments! I'm just happy to know that you enjoy the story!  
> I can't promise to update faster or regularly...sorry, about that! :D


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